


Bad Joke?

by MarsUltor



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 07:57:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7214113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarsUltor/pseuds/MarsUltor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint tries to prank Bucky, and the Winter Soldier doesn't like it.<br/>( This is just something i wrote while bored, and i don't know if i'll even continue it and i haven't edited this at all.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Joke?

 

Word to the unwise. Don’t prank a world renowned assassin that’s been previously brainwashed by a evil secret organization.  They don’t like that kind of stuff. But if you like the thrill of never knowing when your life could end then I highly suggest doing it. It gets the blood pumping.

It all started with harmless pranks. Kitchen magnets on his metal arm while he slept. Snipping a bit of his hair when he was passing by. Messing with the water temp in the showers. Inane shit that wouldn’t necessarily trace back to me. Then it started to get boring so I upped the anty. I escalated to laxatives in his food and tripwires outside the elevator on his and Caps floor of the tower. Obviously I didn’t do it with Cap there, that wouldn’t be patriotic. Natasha told me not to, she said it wouldn’t end well. I decided she was just trying to spoil my fun. It only took 3 days for him to start to lose it. He started to become wary of things I didn’t even booby trap. The man swore up and down that his toothpaste had been switched with mayonnaise. I’m not THAT evil. But one day I slipped up.

I thought he was on mission so I wanted to have a welcome home prank for him. Something that would wake him up a bit. I put a rubber band on the trigger of the sink so it would spray him. I didn’t account for him to finish his mission so early. Just as im turning around he walks into the kitchen, covered in soot and sweat. He takes a few seconds to focus on me, then the sink. I can see he’s noticed the rubber band so I sidle towards the other door. His eyes light up with recognition and his eyes narrow. “You.” He mutters and his shoulders stiffen. I’m almost to the door, but I can’t help saying something. His face is too priceless. “But it was funny huh?” I say with a smirk as I dive and roll out of their as a nasty looking dagger flies into the wall I was just standing in front of. I’m stifling laughter as I haul ass down the hallway to the stairwell when I hear the sound of the slide of a Makarov Kiparis being pulled back. I’m no longer smiling….

_ Two Days Later _ . At first I thought he was just playing. That is until he grazed my shoulder with a bullet as I rappelled down the stairwell. Then I took I knew it wasn’t a joke, or I wasn’t completely sure. This in the case of an assassin is good enough. Trust me on this, I know from past experience. So I’m currently on the move, staying vigilant, and on the move. I haven’t contacted anyone for help; I don’t think they would believe me. I play way to many pranks on them; they probably would think I deserved it. Nat especially, she’s no fun sometimes. But that’s beside the point, because I can handle this. I think? I’ve been through a lot of tough missions, but this is on a whole other level. I’ve seen his file, or at least the things we could tie to him, and if I wasn’t so busy trying not to live I would be shitting myself. Plus I really don’t know him, which makes this all worse because the lack of emotional attachment between us, plus his mental state. Shoulda known he wouldn’t be able to take a joke. I play hot potato with a grenade that has almost no fuse. I’ve been using the cover of Times Square to be least visible, hidden in plain sight. Thankfully I wasn’t a part of the coverage the news channels got of the Chitauri attack, otherwise I’d be hounded right now, but that bullshit with Shield/HYDRA didn’t help my visibility. I slip into a souvenir shop and an “I <3 NY” shirt, some shades and a cap. I’ve been rotating between shops changing 2 times every day, being as random as possible. I’m paying the cashier when I see movement out of the corner of my eye and it’s fast. I jump and push off of the counter with both feet, propelling myself backwards into an aisle just as the store explodes. I’m already scrambling for the back exit when I feel a boot connect between my shoulder blades. I crumple to the floor, but am grabbed at the last second by the scruff of my jacket and raised into the air so fast I think my neck my snap. I blink the stars from my vision and Bucky’s face fills my vision. He’s not smiling, and his eyes remind me that of a dead fishes. “Bucky seriously, we need to stop this-“I try to say before he uppercuts me in the gut with a fist that seems to be made of concrete and every ounce of air I had in my lungs is gone. I forget how to breathe. Eyes filled with tears I try my hardest to bite back a sob and fail. I’m having flashbacks to when I used to live in the orphanage; I was never a big kid. I force myself back to the present as I quickly reach into my pocket and fumble around. He’s still holding me up thankfully because I doubt I could stand on my own right now, so he uses his right hand to yank my arm out of my coat but I’ve already gotten it. I close my eyes as I press the button on a compact flash bang; I’ll remember to thank Stark if I live through this. Every goes red and the sound cuts out as I feel myself falling, and it almost feels like slow motion. I twist my body like a cat trying to land on its feet. I somehow manage to find my footing, and my legs to crumple under me as I use every last bit of my strength to propel me through the gaping hole that used to be the front door and onto the street and into a sea of onlookers and police. I push and shove my way to the other side and take a moment to catch my breath, wheezing like a smoker of 15 years. It hurts so badly I would be surprised if he hadn’t broken a couple of ribs. I hear gunshots behind me so I know it’s time to leave, so I push down the pain, and sprint for the closest alleyway, something I’d never do so I hope it throws him off. He’s not thinking normally right now, he seems to be on autopilot. Maybe that’ll save me.

_ Three hours later.  _ I didn’t anticipate him finding me so soon, though I shouldn’t have expected any less from him, I think to myself as I pick the lock of a closed veterinary’s office with my left hand, while my right clutches my ribs. I hear the tumblers fall into place and I turn the knob and the door opens smoothly. A bell rings as I walk in and I almost jump out of my skin. I close and lock the door behind me, staying still to let my eyes adjust to the light. “Why did I have to be such a fucking moron? Oh yes Clint, fuck with the mentally unstable killing machine. That will turn out well. Yes slowly make him snap and watch him hunt you. That’ll be perfect.” I mutter to myself. As my eyesight adjusts I make out a set of double doors, most likely to the examination room. I shoulder my way through them and reach out and fumble for a light switch. The fluorescent lights flicker and something big and brown flies through the air at me. Reflexively I whip my arm out and toss my waist dagger at it. I hear a yelp and I’m bowled to the floor when it hits my chest. For the second time today I get the wind knocked out of me, my head bounces on the linoleum floor and my vision flickers. I grab for whatever it was that hit me and feel fur. I get a sick feeling in my stomach and I focus. I see a golden pair of eyes staring back at me, losing life. The dog is about 60lbs of shaggy fur and paws, and I hear an almost inaudible sigh as its body goes limp. My throat tightens and I retch onto the floor. I shove corpse off of me, only to notice that my jacket is now covered in blood. I tear it off, and my t-shirt for good measure, and then walk over to the operating table in the far corner of the room where I see cabinets which I open. I find what I’m looking for and pull out a roll of gauze, which I use to bind my abdomen. I clench my teeth and swear silently and sharp pain shoots throughout my body. I need to find some kind of medication otherwise I won’t be able to think through this pain. Digging through drawers I find a bottle of  _ Phenylbutazone  _ that seems to be almost empty, pop a tablet, and chew. I lean over to my right and turn on the water for the nearest sink, then tear my arm bandage off. The stitches I had hastily put in had popped because of all the movement, but thankfully it’s not festering. I grab some gauze and wad it up, wet it, then wipe down the graze. Every time I check it, it looks deeper than I last remembered it to be. I pour alcohol on it, then some antibiotics before I set to work re-stitching. 


End file.
